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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539418">Take The Shot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostflares/pseuds/loveyoutoobits'>loveyoutoobits (lostflares)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(as in the consumption of), Alcohol, Caring parents for their dingdong son, Food Critic!Bitty, M/M, NHL!Jack, a poor tortured waitress who is not nearly paid enough for this shit, non-hockey au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:54:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostflares/pseuds/loveyoutoobits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Zimmermann is the captain of the Providence Falconers. Following a win, his parents had decided to take him out to dinner, where Jack let his high from the win dictate how much to drink, for better or for worse. Eric Bittle, on the other hand, was working hard. A food critic's job is a lonely one sometimes, and the most interesting thing about this one was the man sitting only a few tables away. Their eyes meet, and the poor waitress working their tables would rather go home instead of take part in this mess.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bitty's Valentines Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Take The Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For hockeydyke! This is halfway what you wanted, since it is partly a non-hockey AU. Even if one of them still plays hockey. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jack knew that he probably shouldn’t have asked for another glass. He was high off the win and a little past his comfortably tipsy level, meaning his inhibitions were slowly slipping away and he was likely to make a fool of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it all started before his second glass, when he had spotted the cute blond man a few tables away who had looked a little sad surrounded by a couple plates of food. Their eyes had met, the blond man’s widening, and Jack had looked away first, hiding his blush behind his glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack? Is something wrong?” Alicia had looked at him with a strange look. Jack shook his head in answer, but considering he was at least a little bit tipsy, he risked telling his parents anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, nothing, but… &lt;I just met eyes with that man, the sad one in the corner?&gt; He slipped into French, hoping only his parents would be able to understand him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;The blond one?&gt; Bob easily followed his lead, having looked over his shoulder to see who it was Jack meant. The restaurant was pretty empty this late at night, so it wasn’t hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Yeah.&gt; Jack risked another glance at the man, but he had his gaze firmly back on his meal. How many dishes did he order, anyways?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Christ Jack, you really do have a type.&gt; Bob shook his head with a chuckle, and Jack was glad his cheeks were already flushed from the alcohol. &lt;Why don’t you go talk to him?&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;No!&gt; Jack’s voice rose unintentionally, and he grimaced apologetically at the other patrons who looked their way. To Jack’s embarrassment, the man in the corner looked over too, but his attention turned back to his phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack took to a harsh whisper to make up for his small outburst, shooting his father a look. &lt;No, papa, I will not go and talk to a complete stranger. That is a recipe for disaster.&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Jack, don’t be so melodramatic. You’ve been out for years.&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;That’s not the point. What if he’s not--what if he doesn’t like men?&gt; Jack took another sip of his drink. While it was just a deeper shade of tipsy, it certainly helped with the mortification he felt from this conversation. He wasn’t sure why he had opened his mouth at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;What’s the point in never trying? You know, you miss 100% of the shots you never take, right?&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rolled his eyes, a common phrase Bob had thrown his way in regards to everything: joining the NHL after his year off, coming out sooner rather than later. Pushing him towards anyone that caught Jack’s eye. The last one rarely worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;I think...&gt; I need another drink.” Jack replied instead, and right on cue the waitress came back with a fresh glass. Jack wondered how she knew to come by, but he didn’t question it, as his last glass had finally run dry. Jack gave the waitress a grateful smile, and idly watched as she walked away--towards the blond man’s table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack nearly choked on his drink, thinking about the odds of them sharing a waitress. A dangerous idea was filtering into his mind, and another sip made it seem like just a bit smarter. His mind working through the idea and his fascination with the man in the corner, Jack kept talking, maybe against his better judgement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Do you think he got stood up for a date or something? He looks a bit sad.&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His parents had shared a look that Jack had elected to ignore, but they continued to humor him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;He might have, or that might just be his face.&gt; Bob’s eyes betrayed the joke, but Jack missed it, still watching the man as he typed away on his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;This is a reservation only restaurant, it’s a bit unusual to see someone eating all by themselves, isn’t it?&gt; Jack took another sip, missing the concerned look that passed between his parents. He might have garnered an unhealthy obsession with the man, but he also hadn’t seen anyone so beautiful before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Jack, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about someone behind their back like this, even if he might not be able to understand us, it’s still rude.&gt; Alicia, ever the voice of reason for the two hockey knuckleheads in her family, voiced her concern on death ears. Jack was slipping from tipsy to drunk for the first time in forever, stealing himself for his idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Maybe I’ll ask for his number.&gt;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Jack, maybe you should sober up a bit before you think about having a conversation like this with him.&gt; Bob joined Alicia in her concern, but Jack was already laying out his plan, it just had one more piece necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Don’t worry, I won’t be the one asking.&gt; Right on cue, the waitress was returning to their table with the check in hand. He had it all thought out, ready as soon as she asked the question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you three need anything else for today?” She smiled brightly at them, and Jack quickly smiled back before diving right into his plan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’d like that man’s number.” He pointed to the man in the corner, completely satisfied with his execution. His parents, on the other hand, voiced their displeasure immediately, all while the waitress stood there a bit shocked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack, no!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;That is not the way to handle this situation!&gt; Bob shook his head at his son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;What, papa? What better way: I won’t make a fool of myself this way. I won the game today, I deserve a little bit of mischief.” There may have been a few more warning signs that Jack should have picked up on, but he was a little too drunk to care. Generally speaking, that’s when he knew to shut his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waitress stood there, shifting uncomfortably, glancing between him and the man in the corner. “Sir? I think I may have misheard you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate it if you could go and ask that man sitting in the corner looking sad over several plates of food for his number. For me.” He added as a side note, finally losing some confidence as she kept staring at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… will certainly try, sir. Here is your check.” She forced a smile before placing the check down in front of Bob. Jack took it before his father could pull out his wallet. He figured he might as well pay for making dinner awkward. He placed his card in and handed it back to the waitress, who walked away with a few more glances between the two tables.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She came back a moment later, handing the check back to Jack. She looked at him as if she wanted to say something, and Jack had a feeling he knew what it was. Before she could say anything, the words were slipping through his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not going to do it, are you?” He knew it was rude. The awkwardness had sobered him up a little, and he was beginning to see the flaw in his plan. When the waitress shook her head, Jack only felt a little disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think it would be right for me to do it.” She hesitated again. “I hope you enjoyed your meal.” With that, she turned away, checking on other tables, leaving Jack with a blush that burned more than the alcohol he had consumed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Come on Jack, it’s not so bad. Maybe next time, don’t come up with harebrained ideas like that, right?&gt; Bob cracked a smile, and Jack only nodded, carefully writing in a large tip to cover up the trouble he caused.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Eric wanted to like the food at this restaurant. It was reasonably popular and reservation only, so it had to have good food. From the first dish though, he knew he was in for a just alright meal. He sighed for the umpteemth time, Taking a sip of his water, before typing into his phone his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been working as a food critic for that long, so it took him a bit longer to write his thoughts out into the code he’d come up with. He was beginning to regret choosing ‘food critic’ as his job, it took him longer to write the reviews than it had when he ran his food blog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shitty had told him about this place. Based on the reviews, while it was a fancier establishment, the dining room was clean and the food was amazing. Eric agreed with the first half. Maybe not so much the second half. Even so, he made sure to keep enough leftovers to send Shitty and Larissa’s way when he was done. They may be his agents and best friends, but they couldn’t care less about the quality of the food as long as they got to eat it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most interesting thing about the restaurant had nothing to do with it, though. Maybe it was coincidence, but when he had looked up to gather his thoughts, his eyes had matched with the drop-dead gorgeous man a few tables over. Of course Eric recognized him. Anyone living in Providence had to know who the captain of the Providence Falconers was. Eric just never expected to see him up close and in person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack Zimmermann looked away first, and Eric was grateful for the somewhat dim lighting allowing him to hide his blush. It was no secret amongst his friends that he had a crush on Jack Zimmermann. It was easier on the road for Eric to escape him, but at home in Providence it was nearly impossible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eric focused on his food critic job instead of the object of his massive crush, but every so often he found himself looking in Jack’s direction. It was hard not to when Jack had raised his voice, and Eric’s mind had wandered to what exactly they were talking about, but he quickly looked back to his phone when they met eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the night wound on, Eric noticed that he and Jack had the same waitress. A thought popped into his head, but he quickly shut it down, not wanting to cause a scene or be rejected. But it still sat at the back of his mind as he continued his notes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waitress did her job as best as she could, though Eric knew she was nervous to be waiting on a food critic. He tried to make her job as easy as possible, even if that was almost the opposite of what was expected of him. It seemed though, that every time she went from Jack’s table to Eric’s, she was more flustered than just the normal run-of-the-mill food critic stress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until some commotion occurred at Jack’s table that Eric really became curious as to why. He had noticed Jack’s point and drunken satisfied smile, but they were just too far away and just on the side of too quiet for Eric to hear why he was being pointed at. When the waitress turned away with their check, she had a worried expression on her face. Eric thought about making note of it, but he doubted it was her fault if customers were being difficult in some form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eric’s opinion of Jack lowered in that moment, and he resolved himself to not pay as much attention to him. But the curiosity was gnawing at him, making him wonder if he should ask her when she stopped by his table next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take long, as she dropped the check back off at Jack’s table, before quickly turning to Eric’s. “Sorry for any wait sir. Is there anything else you will need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some to-go boxes for the leftovers. Even if this wasn’t part of the job, I could never finish off this many dishes with how small I am.” Eric cracked a smile to show he was joking. He wasn’t one for hiding who he was at restaurants like this, finding it easier to work with them than against them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should have left it there, but as he watched Jack and his parents grab their things to leave, Eric knew this was his only chance to know. “And… tell me why that customer had you all flustered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waitress’s smile dropped a fraction, but Eric kept an even smile himself, willing her to open up a little. She seemed to debate between telling him and not, before ultimately landing on telling him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you see, sir… He had an… Unreasonable request. About another guest. But I didn’t want to inconvenience y-- the other guest, so I had to tell him no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm I see. What was the request?” Eric knew he was getting a little too bold in his curiosity, but Jack was slowly slipping away and he felt like he’d never see him in person like this again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well--” The waitress paused, looking between Eric and the retreating Jack. She turned back to Eric, who smiled encouragingly at her, and maybe that was all she needed to spill the beans. “He wanted me to ask you for your number. For him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shut her eyes as if that would upset Eric, but Eric was more focused on remembering how to breath. Why would Jack want his number? Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack Zimmermann</span>
  </em>
  <span> want his number? Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>Captain Jack Zimmermann of the Providence Falconers </span>
  </em>
  <span>want his number?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Eric had even acknowledged it, the words were flying out of his mouth faster than he could stop them. “He can have it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” She seemed to drop all sense of formality, but Eric didn’t hold it against her. Eric scrambled in his bag for a moment before pulling out his business card. Lardo had designed them with a nice pie lattice design, and he always carried a stack around with him. The number on the card was only his business number, so he flipped to the back, taking a considerably longer time trying to locate a pen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waitress handed him one of hers, still a bit dumbstruck. Eric quickly scrawled out his number, along with a hurriedly written ‘call me!’, which he quickly crossed out. He handed the card to the waitress, who took it numbly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you please hand it to him before he’s out the door? I’d hate to let him get away empty handed.” Eric flashed him his Georgia Peach smile, and she nodded wordlessly, turning towards the retreating Zimmermanns. Jack had his head down, and Eric wondered if he’d done the right thing, even if it was the most impulsive thing he’d ever done.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Jack was almost out the door when the waitress from their table came up to them. She was holding what looked to be a card tightly in her hands, and Jack wondered for a moment if he had left his card behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um… sir. Here.” She thrust the card at him, a little bit wide-eyed. Jack took it from her, confused, staring down at a business card. It was designed well, and Jack could clearly see the name “Eric R. Bittle, Food Critic” written in large letters above a phone number, a website, and an email.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apparently he had noticed the commotion from earlier, and asked me about it. Frankly, sir, it had stressed me out when you asked, and I couldn’t help but tell him. Maybe he’d assuage my discomfort by telling me I did the right thing saying no. But then he said you could have it.” She looked more stressed out than she had when he had asked, and Jack wondered if she was ok. “He wrote his personal number on the back… I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack turned the card over, seeing the number scrawled, and the crossed out ‘call me’. Jack couldn’t believe his luck, wondering just what he had gotten himself into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. I hope the tip I left you is more than enough to cover the trouble I caused.” Jack didn’t take his eyes off the card, but his tone of voice was genuine, and the waitress left with a frazzled-sounding noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;That’s… great son. You managed to actually succeed with that harebrained plan.&gt; Bob’s eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets, but he really was happy for his son. Alicia rolled her eyes at them both, and pulled Jack along to the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;Can’t take you both anywhere. I swear, if you get a date out of this Jack, I’ll never go out to dinner with you again.&gt; Alicia’s tone was joking, but she certainly was more tired after this dinner than she had been after the game. She might even keep her word if her son stopped being a dingus and got himself a date.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack had stopped paying attention to his parents long ago, his phone already in his hand, inputting the number to call at a later, and far more sober, date. Plans only ever worked this well in his head, afterall.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is potential here to make this a longer fic, I just needed to keep it below the word count. A chapter 2 will come in the near-ish future, since this is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a long time! </p>
<p>Thanks for reading, leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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